


The Icing on the Cake

by menel



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Anniversary, Birthday Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the head canon, “When they are at a party and have cake, Logan scrapes off most of his frosting and gives it to Scott.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Icing on the Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as a two-part fic on Tumblr. Part I was originally released on June 29, 2014 and Part II followed on July 2, 2014.

“You did WHAT?” 

There was a thump, a crash, and another thump, followed by a heavy thud. Those kinds of noises between Cyclops and Wolverine wouldn’t have been out of place in the Danger Room, except that the two men weren’t in the Danger Room. 

“Is it safe, Ms. Frost?” Hisako asked. 

“Safe enough,” Emma answered. She looked to her right. “What are you kids doing here?” 

“Waiting for Logan,” Hisako replied. “We’re his combat training class.” 

“I see,” Emma said. “Let me go get your instructor then.” 

Emma walked forward and without knocking or announcing her entrance, opened the door to Scott’s office. She was greeted with a stand-off between Wolverine and her lover, Wolverine looking like he was about to launch another attack while Scott’s finger was poised on the trigger of his visor. _They could be such children_ , she thought. 

“You’re _over-reacting_ , Logan,” Scott was saying. 

“Just ‘cause yer our leader don’t make me some whore you can pimp out!” Logan yelled. 

Emma arched an eyebrow. Perhaps this disagreement was more interesting than she’d originally given it credit for. She looked at Scott and waited for his response. 

“Now you’re just exaggerating,” Scott replied. (Emma could swear he was rolling his eyes behind the visor.) “I don’t see why you’re so upset. You _like_ kids. You’re good with kids. You’re better with kids than I am. Aside from being the logical choice, they _asked_ for you.” 

Logan didn’t look the least bit placated. You could tell because the claws were still out. “You still should’ve asked me first,” he said stubbornly. “ _Before_ accepting. On _my_ behalf.” 

“I’m _asking_ you now.” 

“No, yer not, Slim. Yer _telling_ me.” 

Scott opened his mouth to reply but shut it just as quickly. 

_He’s got you there, darling_ , Emma mentally said. 

Scott looked at her with a rueful smile before returning his attention to Logan. He took a step forward and when Logan didn’t respond violently, he took another step and another until he was standing in front of the other man. The claws were still drawn, but Logan was no longer holding them up in a fighting stance. Instead, he was standing – in a slightly less combative fashion – with his arms by his sides. 

“I’ll come with you,” Scott told him. 

Logan eyed him suspiciously. “Ya will?” he said. 

“Yes,” Scott confirmed. “You’ll be busy with the kids and someone’s got to do the behind-the-scenes diplomacy. That’ll be me.” 

The claws retracted. 

“You hate parties,” Logan pointed out, obviously still disgruntled. 

Scott shrugged. Emma knew he was refraining from reaching out and touching the other man. “We all have our jobs to do,” he said eventually. 

“Fine,” Logan growled, although he sounded anything but. He brushed by Scott roughly. “Got a combat training class.” 

“They’re waiting for you outside,” Emma informed him as Logan passed by her on his way to the door. 

“Logan, one more thing,” Scott said before the other man left. 

Logan stopped and glared at him. 

“You have to wear your costume.” 

A middle claw shot out and then Logan was gone, the door slamming behind him. 

Emma walked to where Scott was standing in the middle of his office. “You know why he’s upset,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist. 

Scott sighed as he mirrored her gesture. “I’ll make it up to him,” he replied. “I always do.”

* * * * *

The birthday party was for the ten-year-old twins of Senator Mitchell, a high-ranking senator who in recent months had become a staunch supporter of mutant rights, and was the author of a Bill that would have wide-sweeping power to protect those rights, should the Bill pass legislation. When Scott had first received the call, he’d thought it to be some kind of elaborate joke. (Tony Stark was the most likely culprit.) It wasn’t uncommon for Avengers to get the call to schmooze with high-ranking officials, but mutants? Not SOP. Not that Nick Fury particularly liked handling calls that involved sending the Avengers to birthday parties to entertain kids of important politicians and dignitaries. Captain America, of course, was the most obliging. Iron Man was the most unpredictable, hence also the most difficult. Thor was great with kids but was a hit-or-miss affair due to frequently being off-planet. Wolverine, on the other hand . . .

Scott hadn’t been lying when he’d said that Logan was great with kids. Time and time again, Logan had proved how well he got along with kids, just as long as they weren’t his own or Molly Hayes. But a birthday party where he would be the center of attention and at the mercy of the pre-pubescent celebrants, their cohorts _and_ their parents? It was a tough ask. Wolverine, despite his violent past however, made sense for this occasion. He may have been a mutant (and Scott would always consider him an X-Man before anything else, no matter how many teams Logan joined) but he was also a high-profile Avenger. This would be good PR for mutants the world over, even though the timing, Scott conceded, was rather poor. Scott’s timing wasn’t much better. He could’ve brought up the request when Logan was much more agreeable, say, after sex, but the request had been so sudden that he hadn’t had any time to properly break it to Logan.

Senator Mitchell lived on the East Coast and so Scott had one of the Blackbirds prepped and ready to go for the flight. For once, he would be flying a Blackbird in civilian clothes, although he’d packed a spare set of more formal attire to change into once they landed. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Scott asked Emma in the hangar, while Logan moodily smoked a cigar not too far away. “You’re much better at the politicking and socializing than I am.” 

Emma glanced at a very grumpy Wolverine before replying. “You need to spend some quality time with him,” she recommended. “As for those politicians, you’ve learned from the best,” she added, leaning in and giving him a long, slow kiss. 

“You’re too good to me,” Scott commented, when the kiss ended. 

“I know,” Emma replied, releasing him. 

“Wolverine,” Scott called, waiting for the other man at the entrance to the Blackbird. Logan walked towards him, still smoking his cigar. “We _are_ going to a kids’ party,” Scott reminded him. “It would be best not to smell of stale beer and cigar smoke.” 

“I’ll have a breath mint,” Logan growled as he stalked inside. 

Scott sighed and gave Emma a small wave as he followed Logan inside the jet.

* * * * *

The party was going well or so Scott thought, but he was never a good judge of these things. Senator Mitchell was loud and a little overbearing, but nothing Scott couldn’t handle. His wife, Melanie seemed to be the calmer force between the two and Scott was both relieved and horrified when she’d been the one to present Wolverine with an agenda for the afternoon. There were actual “performances” that Wolverine was expected to participate in, complete with back-up actors, dancers, singers and whatever else Melanie Mitchell had concocted. (Scott had not been informed of this elaborate agenda when he’d originally agreed to the deal.) He’d studiously avoided looking at Logan as Melanie had explained his role in that afternoon’s performances, instead listening intently to one of the Senator’s proposals, but he could feel Logan’s eyes boring into his skull the entire time. If their powers had been reversed, Scott would’ve been blasted out those fancy French double-doors that lead into the Mitchell’s expansive garden patio for sure.

Scott kept one eye on Wolverine the entire afternoon, while also maintaining a respectful distance. He could tell that Logan was in one of his highly volatile moods and the slightest provocation from him, even if it was unintentional, could result in those claws being unsheathed and not for demonstration purposes. It was only when all the performances were over, the photo ops completed, and the kids were busy oohing and aaahing over the presents being opened by the Mitchell twins that Scott found Logan sitting a little dejectedly to the side. Wolverine looked tired and Scott didn’t blame him. Both of them would rather fight Sentinels than endure this kind of afternoon. 

“Here,” Scott said, deeming it safe to sit next to Wolverine. “Have some cake.” 

“Ya know I don’t like the sweet stuff, Slim,” Logan grumbled, but he accepted the plate Scott offered him anyway. 

Scott took it to be a good sign that Logan had just called him ‘Slim.’ It meant that he wasn’t as pissed as he was at the start of the day. Or he was just _really_ tired. Scott figured it was a bit of both. He watched as one claw extended and began to gently scape the icing off the slice of cake. He knew how deadly those adamantium claws were, but the precision Logan also demonstrated with them was unparalleled. When all the offending icing had been removed, Scott wasn’t the least bit surprised when Logan dumped it on his plate. 

“We can leave in about thirty minutes,” Scott told him. “I’ll just make the rounds and you should say good-bye to the twins.” 

Logan grunted in response, but he subtly leaned against Scott as he ate his cake. 

Scott made sure not to move.

* * * * *

“Get some rest,” Scott said to Logan when they were aboard the Blackbird again, hoping it sounded more like a suggestion than an order. “We’ll be home by the time you wake up.”

Logan had gone into taciturn mode (not that he was very talkative to begin with) and without acknowledging Scott’s words, he went to the back of the jet to pull down one of the bunk beds in order to properly stretch out. Scott settled into the pilot’s seat of the Blackbird, anticipating a rare peaceful flight. 

When Scott told Logan that they would be ‘home’ by the time the other man woke up, he’d neglected to mention how literal he was being. The flight time was a little over an hour at the Blackbird’s cruising speed and Scott gently landed her in a snow-covered field beside a wood. He switched on the cloaking device before powering down the other systems. He didn’t like leaving her out in the elements like this, but the Blackbird was in tip-top shape and he’d make the trek out to defrost her once a day or as needed to make sure her wings didn’t ice up. He’d monitored the weather in the region during the flight and the forecast for the weekend was a light snowfall. He hoped that snowfall wouldn’t suddenly transform into an outright snowstorm. Weather could be unpredictable. Where was Storm when you needed her? 

Logan was out like a light. He hadn’t so much as budged when Scott landed. Scott decided to let him sleep a little longer while he went outside and set up a perimeter triangular defense for the Blackbird. He didn’t expect anyone to wander onto the field since it was out of the way and bordered by the thick wood, but one could never be too careful. When he was finished, he unbuttoned the winter coat he’d put on as he re-entered the warmth of the jet. Walking over to where Logan was, Scott sat down beside him at the edge of the bunk. Waking Wolverine up could be a tricky proposition but Logan was sleeping so peacefully that Scott wasn’t worried. 

“Hey,” he said, tapping the other man on the shoulder. It had become second nature for him to keep some distance or at least the correct angle away from those potentially lethal claws. 

Logan opened his eyes immediately. 

“We’re here,” Scott said. He watched as Wolverine immediately took in his appearance, his senses no doubt detecting the snow on his coat and the trail of crisp wind that had followed Scott inside the Blackbird. 

“Where’s here?” Logan asked. “Unless Storm decided to bring winter to San Francisco early.” 

“You’ll see,” Scott said, standing up. He gestured to an area behind Logan’s bunk. “That coat’s yours if you want it,” he said. “And the pack’s yours too,” he added. 

Logan didn’t comment as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. He stood up and stretched, wordlessly putting on the coat and then strapping on the backpack. Scott strapped on his own backpack and looked to Logan for confirmation before heading out, the other man following him silently.

* * * * *

Logan immediately knew where they were the moment he stepped outside the Blackbird. He was surprised, very pleasantly so. When he’d woken up to the sight of Scott in winter gear, he’d half expected Summers to tell him that they were on a mission because . . . well . . . that would be just like Cyclops to drag them off on a mission after that horrible birthday party. But no, instead they were . . . ‘home.’ His home.

He watched as Scott turned off the perimeter triangular defense to allow them to pass through and then reactivate it. Naturally, the Blackbird was cloaked. Logan fell into step beside Scott, enjoying tromping through the snow and the quiet of the woods. He knew this trail by heart. Summers did now, as well. 

“Haven’t been here in months,” Logan said suddenly as they neared their destination. “The place ain’t gonna be stocked. We’ll need to go into town if you don’t wanna starve.” 

“What? You’re not going to hunt deer for us?” Scott said, good-humoredly. 

Logan growled in response, but the idea did have some appeal to him. 

“I called in a favor,” Scott explained. “Jean-Paul dropped by earlier today. The place should be fully stocked.” 

“Ya got Northstar to break in?” 

“No, I told him where to find the spare key.” 

Logan grinned. Good ‘ole Jean-Paul. They’d reached their destination and they both instinctively stopped to admire the view. It was the most beautiful thing Logan had seen in a while. 

“You have your moments, Summers,” he said appreciatively. 

Scott grinned and clapped him on the back. “Welcome home, Wolverine,” he said.

* * * *

The cabin was a medium-sized single story building that Logan had built with his own two hands decades ago. It was as rustic as rustic got, secreted away from civilization and most of the modern world’s amenities. (Scott had insisted on certain upgrades like a satellite phone, which they now kept in the bedroom.) It was also his sanctuary. He knew his relationship with Summers had become far more serious than he’d ever anticipated the first time he invited the man to his cabin. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that he’d _never_ brought anybody to the cabin.

Summers hadn’t been kidding when he said that Jean-Paul had stocked up. The pantry was full, as was the refrigerator. (Scott had convinced Logan to get electricity, which was supplied by a generator.) Jean Paul had obviously cleaned too since Logan couldn’t remember leaving the place so orderly. There should’ve been three inches of dust on everything. 

“Didn’t think Jean-Paul was so domestic,” Logan commented as they both unpacked their things (my god, Summers knew him well enough to _pack_ for him) and inspected the cabin. 

“I’m sure Kyle helped him,” Scott replied. 

“So, how much time we got?” Logan asked. 

“The whole weekend.” 

That translated into two days and three nights. Logan could live with that.

* * * * *

The following morning Logan woke to Summers stretched out on the sofa in the living area reading one of his books. It was a classic H.G. Wells novel. They were both science fiction fans and Logan had a healthy stock of the early greats at his cabin – H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, Edgar Rice Burroughs – all in beautiful leather-bound editions.

“The coffee’s still warm,” Scott told him without looking up from the page. 

Logan headed straight for the wooden kitchen counter and poured the other half of the coffee from the French press into a ceramic mug. He would’ve preferred to sleep in but Summers was a creature of habit and he still got up at his usual hour even if he wasn’t training. There was a time when that wouldn’t have bothered Logan since he was used to sleeping alone, but whenever he and Summers shared a bed, the bed automatically felt empty when Scott left. 

Coffee in hand, Logan ambled over to where Scott was, sitting at the other end of the sofa as Scott propped his legs on Logan’s lap. Logan sipped his coffee, savoring the strong smoky taste. Scott had made the coffee just the way he liked it, which was bitter and black. (Scott preferred medium blends and Logan had no doubt that the coffee in his mug had a healthy amount of milk and brown sugar.) 

“What’s the plan for today?” Logan eventually asked, one hand absently running up and down Scott’s pajama-clad shin. 

Scott finally looked up from his book. “Whatever you want to do,” he answered. 

Logan gave him a sideways grin. Summers, the master strategist and control freak, was completely indulging him. 

“In that case,” Logan said wolfishly, “we’re going back to bed and I’m not letting you get up for the rest of the day.” 

“Not even to eat?” Scott said, feigning disinterest. “I imagine we’ll have to keep our energy levels up. Sex is still a form of exercise.” 

Logan had to laugh. “Trust you to turn sex into a workout,” he said, reaching behind him to pull a book down from the bookshelf. The sofa in the living area had also been designed by him and it was unique in that he’d constructed a built-in bookcase consisting of two shelves into the back of the sofa – so, he could be a little lazy when it came to leisure. He wanted his books literally within arm’s reach. 

“Isn’t that how we started?” Scott said, returning his attention to H.G. Wells. 

Logan knew Summers was right. That’s how things had started between them once upon a time. It had been sex in the Danger Room, sex in the showers, a different way to burn off their excess energy and antagonistic drives. But that seemed like a lifetime ago and Logan supposed that it was. 

“Come a long way since then,” he commented, opening _A Princess of Mars_ and settling in to read. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott smile and then they were both engrossed in their reading.

* * * * *

Logan was true to his word and after Scott had made them both a big breakfast of eggs, sausages and pancakes (who gave a fuck about diet and calories?), Logan dragged him back to the bedroom and all but chained him to the bed. He liked that look on Summers and it left no doubt who would be top dog for the weekend. He only let Summers out of bed when Scott insisted that the sheets were so filthy that he’d have to strip them. (Hygiene was always a priority with him. Logan had once found that characteristic to be infuriating, but now he considered it to be part of Summers’ charm.) Even Logan agreed that they were so covered in cum that washing would be advisable but that only meant dragging Scott to the large old-fashioned tub that was thankfully big enough for two grown men, for more sex and post-coital cuddling as the water cooled around them and they wrinkled like prunes.

“This water is filthy too,” Scott eventually said. “You do realize we’re going to have to wash again.” 

“No complaints from me, bub,” Logan agreed, alternately biting and licking the bare shoulder in front of him. 

“You’re really not difficult to please when you’re like this,” Scott mused. “It’s like being at the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.” 

“Self-actualization is over-rated,” Logan replied, lips and tongue working their way up Summers’ neck. Scott leaned back into him, tilting his head to give Logan better access. 

“And basic human urges have their charms,” Scott agreed, his right hand running up Logan’s thigh and then worming its way between their bodies to grasp Logan’s sex. 

“Summers,” Logan growled in warning. 

“One more round before we clean up? Again?” 

_It would have been rude to refuse_ , Logan thought. And Summers was all about propriety.

* * * * *

It was late afternoon and they were lazing about playing board games in the living area when Summers finally said that he needed to go check on the Blackbird. Logan knew it was coming and he was surprised that it’d taken Scott that long to bring it up and he told the other man as much.

“The alarm hasn’t sounded,” Scott explained as they headed out the door, bundled up in winter gear. “That means the perimeter’s secure. It hasn’t snowed all day so she shouldn’t have iced up too badly overnight, and if there were an emergency of any kind, Emma would’ve contacted us already.” 

“How long did it take you to set all this up?” Logan questioned as they walked on the same trail they used the day before. 

“I started making plans as soon as you left my office,” Scott answered. 

_More like stormed out of your office_ , Logan thought, remembering how furious he was when he’d slammed the door on Scott and Emma. People thought he didn’t care about dates or special occasions, that he didn’t even remember those things. Most of the time they were right, but Scott should’ve known better. _This_ was important. 

Yet it was just like Summers to put business before his personal life. He was the consummate professional. His decision didn’t take into account the fact that maybe Logan had had plans of his own. 

Scott’s answer to his question, however, had translated into several hours. It was fairly impressive given how well thought out everything was, but Logan wouldn’t have expected anything else from Mr. Contingency. He idly wondered what favor Jean Paul owed Scott that would have him and his boyfriend playing housekeeper for Cyclops at such short notice. 

The trek to the Blackbird was short and they found her in good shape, the perimeter untouched, just as Cyclops had predicted. It didn’t take Summers long to run through the systems and defrost what little ice had formed on the wings. Logan smoked a cigar outside while Cyke checked in with Emma. He knew that was a given too. 

“Do you feel like having dinner in town?” Scott asked him when he was ready to go. 

Logan stubbed out the last of his cigar in the snow. “Don’t trust my cooking?” he asked. 

“Not really,” Scott admitted. “There’s that nice Italian restaurant near the edge of town,” he suggested. 

“You carbo-loading, Cyke?” 

“I thought it would be _romantic_ , Wolverine. Besides,” Scott added, taking hold of Logan’s gloved hand. “I know you’re a fan of their cannelloni.”

* * * * *

Their last day at the cabin was spent much like the first – well, maybe with not as much vigorous sex – but lots of lazing about and enjoying each other’s company, a feat that was so rare for them back in the real world. Logan had moved onto the second book in Burrough’s _Mars Chronicles_ and Scott had finished _The War of the Worlds_. He was now reading a collection of Ray Bradbury short stories. Scott had even managed to sleep in that morning, most likely because Logan had fallen asleep with an arm wrapped around him, virtually challenging the other man to break that adamantium embrace. Scott hadn’t put up much of a fight and was rewarded with a ‘Good morning’ blowjob. It had been Logan’s turn to cook breakfast (the one meal of the day that Scott really trusted him with) and slightly burnt toast aside (“It’s _golden_ ,” Logan had growled) it wasn’t rocket science to throw hash browns and Canadian back-bacon into a frying pan. They listened to some of Logan’s classic rock vinyls and had more sex. Afterwards, Scott made a mean hot chocolate topped with marshmallows while Logan did his best to distract him.

Some time in the afternoon Scott insisted that Logan go out and take in the sights. 

“What sights?” Logan asked. 

“The woods, whatever is out there,” Scott replied, gesturing in the general direction of the outdoors. “Go . . . hunting or something.” 

“Or something,” Logan repeated. “Ya kicking me out of my own cabin, Cyke?” 

“Only temporarily,” Scott replied. “You can check on the Blackbird,” he suggested, almost as an afterthought. 

“That sounds like you’re trying ta get _me_ ta do your work for ya.” 

“It’s called trust,” Scott said seriously. “I _trust_ you with my baby.” 

“Fine,” Logan grumbled affectionately. “How much time do I need to kill?”

“Two hours,” was Scott’s immediately reply. 

_Two frickin’ hours_ , Logan thought. He might as well make a trip to town after checking on the Blackbird. “Two hours,” he said warningly. 

Scott smiled a disturbingly saccharine smile at him. “That’s all I need,” he promised.

* * * * *

Although many people perceived Wolverine to be a hard man (and they weren’t incorrect), he had a big heart and was often generous to those he loved. It explained why Summers could get away with just about anything and why Wolverine dallied a little longer at the bar, chatting with the bartender who was an institution in those parts.

“Thanks Sam,” Logan said, polishing off his last beer. “Gotta head back.” 

“Good seeing you around, Logan,” Sam said, wiping down the counter as Logan left. 

Logan got on his bike, the one that he kept up in the cabin. It was a classic that he’d restored. Scott had been very impressed the first time he’d laid eyes on it – Logan could tell that it was instant love. By the time he returned to the cabin, he’d given Summers an extra thirty minutes. He was greeted by the most delicious aroma – warm, with a slight citrus scent – as soon as he entered. Scott _had_ been busy. 

“You didn’t need to give me the extra time,” Scott chided him, coming out of the bedroom. 

“Thought I’d play it safe,” Logan shrugged, removing his jacket. 

“Play it _safe_?” Scott repeated with a grin, but the barbed joke Logan had been expecting never came. “Take a seat,” Scott said instead, motioning towards the wide kitchen counter where they ate their meals. 

Logan did as he was told, watching with unbridled amusement as Scott moved about the kitchen. Summers was rarely so domestic, but he knew his way around. It sometimes made him wonder how often the other man cooked for Emma. 

Summers was at the stove with baking gloves on as he pulled out a freshly baked loaf. _This was new_ , Logan thought. He watched as Scott used a knife to transfer the loaf onto a plate. 

“When did you add baking to your repertoire?” he inquired politely. 

“Late Friday morning,” Scott answered. “I asked Emma to download some recipes and cooking tutorials for me.” 

“Telepaths can be useful like that,” Logan agreed. 

Scott turned around and put the loaf in front of Logan, before bringing out two smaller plates and two forks. “Here,” he said, passing Logan the knife to do the honors. “Lemon poppy seed loaf with no icing,” he said. “Just the way you like it.” 

“I know it’s late,” Scott went on as Logan took the knife and proceeded to cut the loaf. “And Friday was a mess, but . . . Happy Anniversary.” 

Logan paused in his actions, the knife halfway through the loaf and looked at Summers. It was the first time all weekend that either of them had acknowledged what had made Friday special and why he’d been so pissed when Summers had informed him of being the center of attraction at the Mitchell birthday party. He nodded at Summers words. Scott wasn’t apologizing and Logan wasn’t forgiving him. That’s not how things worked between them. He finished slicing the loaf and put the two pieces on the two plates. Silently, they tasted the lemon poppy seed loaf. 

“Shit,” Logan said after a while. “This is really good.” 

“Thanks.” 

“How many times did you try this to get it right?” 

“Once.” 

Logan looked at the other man disbelievingly. 

“Really.” 

Logan refrained from making a snarky remark about Mr. Perfect being Perfect. But what he said instead clearly shocked them both. 

“You ever think about getting married?” 

Logan thought Scott did an admirable job of not choking. “What?” the other man stuttered. 

“I take it that’s a ‘no.’” 

“What?” Scott repeated, looking the most disoriented Logan could recall seeing him in a long time. “No, I mean ‘yes.’ No.” 

Logan raised an eyebrow at Scott’s incoherence. 

Scott cleared his throat, palms flat on the counter. The light dimmed briefly behind the glasses that he was wearing so Logan knew that the other man had shut his eyes to compose himself. 

“What I mean is,” Scott began, now fully in control again. “Yes, I have thought about getting married. But we’ve both been married before and quite frankly, I didn’t think you’d be interested.” 

“What if I were? Interested?” 

Scott’s jaw actually dropped open from shock, but he shut it immediately. “Are you proposing?” he asked, somewhat tentatively. 

Logan wasn’t one hundred percent certain that he was doing that, but since he was pushing the envelope . . . 

“Would you say ‘yes’?” 

Scott ran a hand through his hair, a clear sign of agitation. “There’s Emma,” he said, but Logan cut him off. 

“I’m not asking you to end things with her.” 

“That’s kind of what marriage is, though,” Scott reminded him. “Being exclusive.” 

Logan scoffed. “Since when have you and I ever followed the rules or been conventional?” he replied. “Emma’s good for you. She keeps _us_ balanced.” 

“She’d love to hear you say that.” 

“She already has.” 

At Scott’s confused expression, Logan explained. “Had a chat with her this afternoon when you sent me to check on the Blackbird.” 

“Oh my god,” Scott said, realization dawning upon him. “Did you tell my girlfriend that you were going to propose to me?” 

“Not explicitly,” Logan said evasively. “I don’t have a ring with me,” he pointed out. 

“But she _knows_ ,” Scott pressed. 

“She’s a smart gal,” Logan replied. 

“Oh my god,” Scott repeated. He pulled out one of the counter stools and sat down as he started to laugh. “Oh my god, this is too much.” 

Logan watched him, his amusement returning as he took another bite of the lemon poppy seed loaf. “This ain’t the reaction I was expecting,” he admitted. 

“I don’t understand,” Scott said, his laughter subsiding. “Why now? What’s changed?” 

Logan shrugged, but it was a calculated shrug. Their conversation had veered into serious territory. 

“I’m tired of sneaking around,” he said at last. “Half of Utopia thinks we want to kill each other, the other half thinks we’re sleeping together.” 

“Well, they’re both half right then,” Scott said. He also grew serious when Logan didn’t return his smile. “Let’s stop sneaking around,” he said, reaching out and covering Logan’s hand with his own. “If you don’t care who knows about us, then I don’t care either.” 

“And the other thing?” 

Scott’s grin returned. “Buy me a ring first,” he said. 

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> The merry mutants belong to Marvel and Fox. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
